Free Fake: The Scarab Beetle Series: #3 (The Academy) by C. L. Stone

“Someone’s going to see us,” I said.
    “This house is for sale. There’s a sign in the front yard.”
    Oh. “The neighbors will see us.”
    “The neighbors are asleep. It’s four a.m. Let’s go.”
    Marc hopped out and opened my door before I got to it. I got out, clutching at my pants to keep them on my hips correctly. He closed the door quietly and turned, following Axel without saying anything. He even avoided my eyes.
    Oh god. I paused in the driveway, watching them walk to the street and turn. I started off slowly, creating distance between us. Was he mad at me? Why wasn’t he talking? It wasn’t that he hadn’t talked before, it was that something was suddenly on his mind and he seemed to be avoiding only me. Or was I being paranoid? No. His lips were tight, face grim.
    I tramped after Axel, too afraid to address Marc and start a scene. Maybe he was feeling the edge because Brandon was missing. Had I ever seen Marc truly upset before? What was he like?
    Did he blame me for all of this?
    “Where are we going?” I asked. “Is this his house?” I didn’t understand why we parked somewhere and left the car.
    “No,” Axel said. “We’re just borrowing it.”
    “I thought we were going after Randall. Which house is his? And what are we looking for?”
    “If we find out who he is, how he died, it might lead us to these German guys. Maybe they killed him and left clues. Crime scenes usually are riddled with them. And if we find this core in the meantime, hopefully we can do the right thing by it. First thing, though, is to make sure Brandon is safe.”
    I followed the guys to a greenhouse in the next cul-de-sac over from where we’d parked. The house was similar to all the others, stacked on top of a garage. There were low hedges, and a brick mailbox and an American flag hanging from a pole in the front lawn. If Randall Jones had been hosting an illegal cell phone service, you wouldn’t have been able to tell from his front lawn.
    “This it?” I asked. It didn’t look very expensive, not compared to some other properties I’d seen elsewhere in Mt. Pleasant. I don’t know why, but when the German asked to find this core and get it, I expected it was from someone rich. Really rich. Why get something if not to sell it for money?
    Axel and Marc stood close to a palm tree planted on the corner of a property a block down the street from where we’d parked. Their heads moved in opposite directions, checking out the neighborhood, the layout. I imagined they were doing spy calculations to figure out the best move. The lights were off in the Jones’s home. The garage doors were closed. The property looked still, uninhabited.
    “Is there a Mrs. Jones?” I asked.
    “I don’t know yet,” Axel said. “I think so, or else this property would be up for sale after he died.”
    “Are there little Jones children?”
    “Don’t know.”
    “What do we know?”
    Axel turned his head toward me. His dark eyes met mine, and he challenged me that way. “I know we should be quiet and take a look around.” He headed to the garage.
    “We can’t just barge in,” I said.
    “We don’t have time to do this the right way,” he said. “We have to do it the quick way.” He hunched a little, sneaking up toward the house and trying to be discreet about it.
    Marc followed him close, a shadow. He still hadn’t said a word, not even a breath about the mission we were on. Was he being quiet because he had to be or because he was angry at me? Why wouldn’t he look at me? This was going to drive me crazy. I’d have asked flat out but it really wasn’t the time to get into a fight. I swallowed back my bubbling fear and tried to stick close to them.
    The Jones’s front porch was on a second story balcony with staircases leading up. The garage doors had a single normal door between them, making a lower level entryway. It was tucked behind the staircase that lead to the porch. Stupidest design ever. Someone could hide